how not to burn bridges

the only way is to not speak.
a word here or there, and crackle, crackle go the wood panels,
leaving you hanging on to a rope for your dear life
like indiana jones or some other daredevil.

just shut up and think ahead,
think of bowls, thinks of books,
think of music, think again,

think again, think again and again,
so on and so forth.

FUCK EM.

Unstable Decision on One Eyed Jacks

A drooping branch before an immense house.
Dull, dreary, dragging feelings in this place,
Drawn, sketched faces on off white paper,
uneven characters, heavily costumed facades.

"That's the man who did it!"

A tense frenzy of grief,
slow mob of death,
desiccated,
throbbing aftershock.

"She had sex with 3 men the night she was killed."

A pungent, foul stench,
aromatic skunk breath,
hysterical,
horror,
feverish, selfish amusement.

The men continue their discussion. Things are not what they seem. Looking deeper into the debonair personalities present, one will find:

Protagonist;
Buttressed opinions;
Ignorant victims;
Antagonist;
so on and so forth..

"She had secrets, you know, rather unconventional ones."

Whips and chains, black leather, red satin, fire lipstick, rope..
a tall, dark, handsome stranger..

(or.. abuse, brutality or worse..)

a void hallway, motionless, boundless, filled with _____,
the type which drips down the sides of caskets and naive _____.

heinous.

life, you are death's subordinate

lying supine
eyes open, then closed.
oxygen tube in my nose
I.V. in the hand click-drip-click-drip
blood pressure cuff compressing every three minutes.

and in the distance there is ambient noise
doctors and nurses chatter
Ashley stands with attempted poise.
beep-beep beep-beep-beep beep-beep

as I look up at the pale white ceiling
and the flourescent lights providing their 21st century buzz,
my mind is in a state of existential reeling.

tears roll
my body is still
i am still and aligned
with so many other souls
still and aligned
we listen and contemplate
our discomfort is of little concern
it's our vital signs that are vital

i am with you then and i am with you now
i know now something about that experience
click-drip click-drip click-drip
mumble murmer

such deep sadness waves over me
why can't i appreciate oxygen unless i have none?
why can't i appreciate pain in its absence
life, you are death's subordinate

squeeky wheels zoom by with a doplar effect
and they return.
she looks in the window, references her chart, and enters
apparently i've gained enough consciousness;
it's time to pay.

not even 24 hours later,
i can't recall what it felt like - not being able to breathe.

beep-beep beep-beep-beep beep-beep

The Lighthouse

Darkness, all around, yourself and the blackened sea.
A brightness rotates and puts out a transient blast of sight;
the light upon the lighthouse spins a crystal web on the gray and desolate
branches of trees surrounding the tall tower. the slow murmur of water below you.


your mission is pursuit of some evil character. he is lurking about in the shadows
of the trees and lighthouse.

your boat edges closer to the coast, adjacent to the cyclops of light, you hear rustling
and something scurries from the bushes. you fumble your spotlight on and catch a figure,
the figure stops, turns and looks you straight in the eye, you jump from the boat and sprint into the darkness.

your heart beats (thump, thump, thump..) and you look about frantically, the only light is
the occasional passing by of the tower, lighting up for just a fraction of a second, the entire
maze of vines, bushes, branches, leaves, twigs, weeds, rodents, spiders, flies, and other creatures
of the night before you.

you reach the eye of the storm, and you are alone. suddenly there is no movement and even the light
you felt above you earlier is hard to see. you stand before a tree, you wait, and for an instant, you see
him staring at you from a short distance, smiling sinister, like a toying rapist. you thunder forward into the brush.

the brush is endless, you see visions of yourself, of him, of unthinkable atrocities. you let it go. you follow
your personal cyclops of light back to the water.

but the boat?
the boat?
the boat is gone..

Take a seat, it might be a while.

The above text is meant to illustrate the below download.
The Lighthouse - Yarbles

So Much to Say

But vacant of the words to say it.